


and you're bringing me down

by aestheticisms (R_Vienna)



Series: we are deep sea divers [1]
Category: Pocket Monsters: Black & White | Pokemon Black and White Versions, Pocket Monsters: Black 2 & White 2 | Pokemon Black 2 & White 2 Versions
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Post-BW2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 22:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Vienna/pseuds/aestheticisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Light me up. - Hilda/Nate</p>
            </blockquote>





	and you're bringing me down

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [my best regards from hell](https://archiveofourown.org/works/714764) by [cyndaquils](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyndaquils/pseuds/cyndaquils). 



“Give me a light, would you?” 

Nate doesn’t smoke. She knows that.

That doesn’t stop him from fishing through his messenger bag, looking for a stray match, maybe something left over from his last campout in Lacunosa Town. His fingers brush against a splint of wood, red-tipped and menacing, and takes it out, offers it to her on his open palm. She takes it, scratches his hand with her red talons, and lights it with her teeth.

He didn’t even know that was possible. Anything was possible, anything was feasible when you were with White. You could defy the laws of the universe, bring the forces that be to their knees when you were with enigmatic,  _tragic_  White. 

“Thanks.” She says, all business like and curt, she puffs out smoke circles, watches them waft towards the dark-haired boy, watches him cough loudly and throw her a scathing glare. “Nate-Nate, _how_ have _you_ been?” 

White’s high-pitched lilt, in all of its saccharine glory, is an obvious mockery of Rosa’s soprano. She leans forward, bends over the balcony fence, lets her chestnut curls down and lets them fly with the Castelian breeze. Her fingers clutch the iron railing, they’re blue from the cold.

Nate does not respond to her query, or her state of undress. She should know by now that Unovan winters are bitter, they’re cold and calculating and cruel. They are unforgiving. 

They are a lot like her. 

“This region’s not big enough for the four of us, Hilda.” 

She ignores her given name, and ignores his statement. Instead, she laughs and gives him a long, long stare. She’s pressing him to say more, oh, why do you think that, _Nate-Nate_? 

“You scared of Little Red Riding Hood?”

The boy laughs, because he is a boy in her presence, a stupid little kid. 

She’s only two years older than him. 

He bites back a less than courteous insult, and shoves his gloved hands into his pockets, he takes three steps back. The wind hits him, and Nate’s hatred for the city grows stronger with every shiver and shudder. He rubs his sides, and grimaces.

“I’m not scared of you.” 

With his chattering teeth and shaking voice, he does not convince her.

“Maybe you’re right,” she says after a pause, a stretch of time, just long enough for the city lights to flicker on, and for the ships in the sea to head back to their ports, loud horns piercing the otherwise quiet night. “Maybe it is too small for all of us.”

Nate hopes she decides to pack and leave. Nate hopes that she disappears, just like she did two years prior. That would be for the best, he thinks, arms crossed over his chest, back to her back. White stretches, raises her arms to the sky, blue jacket sleeves fall past her elbows, and then return to their rightful place when she tucks her hands into her shorts pockets. She hums a jaunty tune before turning on her heel, and walking past the dark-haired boy. Her hand finds his shoulder, she makes him look at her. Nate gulps, something pathetic and childish all the same, because he, better than most, knows that she always gets her way. Why bother trying. 

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and they’re eye-to-eye, her head tilts forward, because she always looks down on her favorite subjects.

Her ringed hand cups his cheek, he feels pinpricks of heat against his skin, whatever warmth was left in her, she was giving to him. 

Nate finds it awfully, awfully symbolic.

“You’re so warm, Nate-Nate. Stay like that, all right?” 

The turn of events makes him flinch. Her hand goes through her pink purse, and out comes a small pokéball, dented and used and full of history. He will never understand her, he thinks as she disappears into the night, a cloud over erasing any trace of her existence. 

He can still hear her braviary’s cry on the north wind. He ignores it, and heads back to the pokémon center, with the intention of scrubbing the smell of nicotine off from his skin. 

**Author's Note:**

> mmmmMMMMm interestingly enough! this was born out of my need to appreciate kerry/ao3 user cyndaquils, who wrote the incredible series "you wasted your years on me", which i am completely and terribly in love with.
> 
> consider it something on the other side of the looking glass. it's not a remix of said piece, but it definitely draws inspiration from her works. 
> 
> i've always been fascinated by the hilda/nate dynamic, and i felt i could indulge, considering the attention xy's been getting. aha.


End file.
